Harry Potter: I, Tom Riddle, am not the Dark Lord Chapter 187 187: The Thunder Essence

"What is this?"

Inside a crystal vial, no larger than half a palm, a sky-blue liquid flowed smoothly, bursting every so often with dazzling arcs of lightning.

"You can call it… Lightning Elixir. Of course, it actually has a more grandiose na—Thunder Essence—but I doubt you'd understand, so let's keep it simple."

Snape shot him a sideways glare.

Was I asking for its na?

No.

I was asking what the devil this thing is!

"This Thunder Essence," Tom lowered his voice to sothing deep and mysterious, "is no ordinary concoction. It is the very essence condensed from concentrated lightning when a Thunderbird calls down the storm. Mr. Scamander and I endured countless perils to obtain it. We even battled Thunderbirds for half a month before eking out a hard-won victory."

The truth? Tom had summoned the storms himself and condensed the lightning painstakingly over half a month. In reality, he'd nearly overfed every young Thunderbird in the area. But phrasing it the way he did wasn't technically a lie.

And the effect of this so-called Thunder Essence… well, Newt's hypothesis that higher-tier energy could purify the bloodline of magical beasts had already been proven true.

The Thunderbirds' reaction to the Lightning Elixir was eerily similar to unicorns when they saw Tom's Patronus—fascinated, restless, nearly reverent. When Tom left, he had even given them a portion of the Elixir as a parting gift. They almost tore each other apart for it, and it took Tom's stern command to force them into dividing it evenly.

Those that drank it each gained benefits—ironically, the weaker ones gained the most.

Newt was already drafting a paper on bloodline purification, with Tom as the first author. Another hefty pile of credits and achievent points would soon be his.

Snape eyed the vial suspiciously. The glowing electric plasma inside shimred like a storm bottled in glass. Though doubtful of Tom's dramatic claims, he could not deny that he had never seen anything quite like it.

The essence of condensed lightning. What could it possibly be used for?

Tom sighed, exasperated, as though scolding a dim student. "Professor, you're the Potions Master here. I'm just a re second-year with a little talent. Why do you always insist on asking ? I won't give you any hints—my ideas would only interfere with your creativity. Inspiration must be born naturally."

Snape sneered coldly and gave a curt nod. "I see. You've brought sothing you haven't even researched yourself, just to trick ."

"How can such a noble transaction between student and teacher be called a trick?" Tom tilted his head back, admiring the ornate carvings on the ceiling as though they were the masterpiece of a grand sculptor.

Really, Snape was too humorless. Everyone knew you don't call out the obvious. No wonder he had no friends.

The man was already busy to death every day—how could he possibly have ti to research new materials?

"Class is about to begin, Professor. Have you changed your mind yet?" Tom pressed.

"…Changed it." Snape's tone was reluctant, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his fascination. He could not resist new ingredients. "Give so Thunderbird feathers as well."

"Take them, take them. I even have Thunderbird bones—consider them a gift."

Snape's brows furrowed. The boy was far too generous. That could only an he had plenty of Thunderbird materials stashed away. Why hadn't he asked for more earlier?

Damn it. He'd let himself be outplayed.

"Follow ."

Snape's face darkened, his expression one of grim resignation, as he led Tom away to collect the goods.

…

The sun was sinking, the twilight sky like molten gold spilling across the castle walls. The Quidditch pitch glowed faintly in the dying light, while thin trails of smoke drifted lazily from Hagrid's hut, curling into shapes that resembled people before vanishing with the breeze.

Deep in the Forbidden Forest, Tom lifted the Disillusionnt Charm. He pulled out his enchanted card case and enlarged it. Monts later, a massive unicorn bounded into view, hooves thundering joyfully against the ground.

After two and a half months away from their "old ho," the unicorn herd was brimming with excitent. They galloped freely through the woods, startling flocks of birds into flight.

They circled their territory once, driving out the magical creatures that had dared occupy it in their absence, before trotting back to Tom's side.

"You lot should stay here most of the ti. When the holidays co, I'll take you away again. The little pocket world is too dull for you."

Under Newt's guidance, Tom had remodeled his miniature world, splitting it into twenty-five distinct regions, each independently expanded. When pieced together, the total area was nearly one-third the size of the Forbidden Forest.

If he were willing to pay the steep price in magic and effort, it could grow even larger—but there was no real need.

Size wasn't everything. To sustain a real world, a complete ecological chain was required: climate, terrain, flora, fauna. Newt had spent decades constructing his pocket world, and still had to dedicate imnse ti daily to its upkeep.

Tom, for now, had no plans to invest so much. Most smaller magical creatures weren't picky and could live comfortably in the pocket space, but unicorns belonged in the Forbidden Forest, free and wild.

"Whiiiinnnny~"

Leo and Milo trotted over, rubbing against him—not so much out of attachnt, but more like reminding their human caretaker to feed them regularly.

"You greedy gluttons," Tom scolded with a smile. "If I find you've gotten fat next ti, I'll ship you straight off to Newt!"

"Whinny!"

"Don't even try to act cute. It won't work."

Just as Tom finished, the sound of rapid hoofbeats echoed from the thicket. He looked up. Soon enough, a centaur erged.

"You are… Firenze." Tom raised a brow, faint recognition flickering across his face.

Truth be told, he wasn't great with faces—half the Gryffindors looked the sa to him, let alone centaurs.

"Greetings, Tom Riddle." Firenze dipped his head courteously, then bowed slightly toward the three unicorns.

In the centaurs' worldview, unicorns represented purity and sanctity, their status almost divine.

"I was patrolling nearby," Firenze explained, "when I sensed a disturbance in our territory. So I ca to investigate."

"You're far more polite than the rest of your kin," Tom replied with a faint smile. "At least you don't call 'foal.'"

Firenze shook his head. "It is not a matter of politeness. My people speak from habit; I, however, choose to speak with regard to your feelings."

Tom snorted softly. "Not caring about others' feelings is nothing more than arrogance dressed as tradition."